


Complications

by orphan_account



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sex, Cain is mean, Comfort, First Time, Infidelity, M/M, Weirdness, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could have been the easiest month of Abel's life. But Abel had to go and make things more complicated than they had to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complications

**Author's Note:**

> This is... cracky. Just... ssshhh. Let me quietly sail this ship into the sunset.

It was only temporary, while Cain was gone.

A night of hard drinking, which had resulted in three broken noses and the loss of a finger, had landed Cain a month in the brig. Abel thought the damned idiot had been lucky to be found guilty of common assault and not attempted murder, and lucky too that those other fighters had gotten  _him_  just as good as he’d gotten them—the smooth, taut skin of Cain's torso would never look the same after having a broken bottle shoved through it, and his fingers would probably never be fully functional after having three of them broken and twisted right back.

Abel was still furious with him for the whole stupid thing.

But with Cain out of the picture for now, Deimos—an unassigned fighter Abel had previously known only by sight (he could never forget a fighter so small, or with eyes like that _)—_ had been assigned to Abel temporarily, and things were…complicated.

It wasn’t just that Abel was aware Deimos knew Cain—he’d seen them together on a few occasions, once inside their room, when Abel had returned early from an afternoon shift to find Cain yelling and bending Deimos' arm behind his back, and once more when he’d happened upon Cain shoving Deimos into a wall in one of the corridors outside the mess, loudly berating the smaller fighter and calling him stupid.

Abel had never asked what all that had been about, though he’d felt sympathetic for Deimos at the time—he knew exactly what it was like to be bullied by Cain. But Cain would only make Abel suffer if he got involved in something that didn't concern him, would only call him a nosy bitch and demand he stay the fuck out of it, and so Abel had kept quiet. 

No. Things were complicated because Abel wanted them to be.

* * *

He supposed he could have just left things well enough alone until Cain returned—gotten through patrol without trying to make awkward chit-chat; ignore Deimos as best he could when they were alone together in the room. Deimos didn’t try to make life difficult—he was neat, respectfully observant of personal space, and the quietest person Abel had ever met. He didn’t smoke, threaten, or intimidate, and always did what Abel suggested at the slightest prodding. He didn’t call Abel a slut when he got angry; because Deimos didn’t _get_ angry. He didn’t shove Abel into walls when the mood took him, and he didn’t laugh when Abel told him something personal. Usually, he said nothing at all.

He didn’t scare Abel the way Cain did.  

It could have been the easiest month of Abel’s life. But Abel was stupid, just like Cain had once told him, and Deimos intrigued him like no one else ever had. He didn't want to leave things well enough alone.

* * *

They’d spent a week together by the time Abel finally worked up the courage to do more than just make small talk with Deimos—small talk that was generally ignored, met with a raspy ‘yes’ or ‘no,’  or sometimes just a shrug.

Abel was tired of watching Deimos every day, of being so curious of him and yet never saying anything important. He didn't know a thing about Deimos, and Deimos didn't know a thing about him, but Abel wanted that to change. He didn't want Deimos to feel unwelcome while they were together, as if Abel thought him a poor stand-in for Cain, because he didn’t, and so he reasoned it was about time they had an actual conversation—finally clear the air and break the tension.  

The lights were dimmed, so that Abel could only just make out the small outline of Deimos’ body, still and curled into a ball as he lay with his back to Abel. They’d slept side by side since that first night—Abel wasn’t strong enough to hoist the bunk back to where it had been, and Deimos had never questioned the sleeping arrangements. But they never touched, even if Abel often wanted to.

He missed the comfort of cuddling close to Cain’s body during the nights—missed the way Cain’s strong arms around him always made him feel so protected; safe enough that Abel could pretend this mission wasn’t their last. Abel thought perhaps he and Deimos could comfort each other until Cain got back. They were both too quiet, too troubled, too lonely. Both needed something. And Deimos always seemed so gentle and harmless to Abel—vulnerable, even; like he needed comfort, too.

He wasn't harmless, though. Abel knew this because he'd seen Deimos fearlessly hold a knife to a burly fighter’s throat, his grip on the handle steady and a menacing look on his face, when the man had tried to grab at both Deimos and Abel in the lift. But he didn’t seem so dangerous when he was alone with Abel: more as if he was just tired, and perpetually sad about something. All Abel wanted was to know him better. To understand his constant silence.

“Are you awake?” he finally whispered to Deimos’ back. Nothing answered him but more quiet. He touched Deimos’ shoulder and Deimos flinched, though he didn’t push Abel away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Abel said sheepishly. Deimos didn’t say anything and so Abel went on, “Is everything alright with you? You’ve been so quiet since you got here. Can I do anything?”

Deimos shook his head.

“Can I talk to you?” Abel asked hopefully.

There was a brief pause before Deimos rolled over to face him, eyes open and unblinking as they stared back at Abel. Abel smiled at him, and thought he caught the slightest twitch of Deimos’ mouth in response.

The covers had slipped down over Deimos' shoulder, and the air was chilly tonight. Abel pulled the coverlet back over the little fighter and patted it down. "You too cold?" he asked softly. 

Deimos shook his head once more. 

"I think something's wrong with the heating again," Abel sighed, starting to think this was a bad idea, and that he was going to end up having another conversation with himself. He bit his lip, unsure what to say next.

Deimos never made conversation easy. Abel didn't think he tried to be so closed or uncommunicative, but was likely just painfully shy. Abel empathised with him on that. He remembered being that way once, back at academy, where everything had been so unfamiliar, and he’d been so unsure about whether or not he’d made the right choice with his life.

“Can I ask you something?” Abel said, inching closer to Deimos but not close enough that it might be considered threatening. Deimos looked small and weak, but Abel knew he wasn’t. He had no doubt Deimos could render him defenceless in a second if he wanted to, though Abel didn’t think he had much to be afraid of from Deimos. Deimos had never looked as if he wanted to hurt Abel, and had even protected him that time in the lift, when that fighter had tried to grab them, mistaking them for easy targets.

Abel wanted to be closer to Deimos, had frequently thought about putting his arms around him while they slept, but he couldn’t stand the idea of pushing himself onto someone who looked like they were afraid of something all the time; pushing the way Cain had once pushed him.

When Deimos didn’t say anything at all, Abel continued, “I wanted to ask you about Cain. How do you two know each other? I’ve seen you with him and I…” Abel glanced away but quickly forced himself to look back at Deimos and stop being a coward. “Did you know him before? Before all of this?”

Deimos shook his head, brow furrowed now. “I…” He took a long pause, clearing his throat. “I… I met him in basic.” His voice was husky; barely there.

“Oh.”

They fell into silence again, looking at one another in the quiet. Deimos was delicate-featured and pale for a fighter, lips pink and nicely shaped. They weren’t scarred-up like Abel’s were, and Abel wanted to touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked. But he wouldn’t. Not unless Deimos wanted him to.

He was stunned then when Deimos brought a hand to Abel’s face and gently dragged a thumb back and forth over Abel’s scarred lips. Abel blushed and looked away from him, worrying stupidly over whether Deimos thought it was ugly.

“He hurt you,” Deimos quietly remarked.

Abel looked up at him, trembling a little now, and answered, “Yeah. He does that.” He tilted his face to the side then, not wanting to be looked at and ashamed of what he’d allowed Cain to do to him.

“He doesn’t know how to treat you.”

Abel frowned, unsure whether Deimos was attempting to defend Cain or simply making an observation. “What do you mean?”

Deimos touched a lock of Abel’s hair and let his hand fall to Abel’s shoulder. “You’re not like us,” he murmured, and for a moment Abel hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. “You’re fragile,” Deimos explained. “Easy to break. You think too much. You’re always too trusting for your own good.”

Oh. He meant  _navigators_. Deimos, like most fighters, was quick to write them all off as weak and delicate. But he was wrong.

“I’m not fragile,” Abel declared, a little petulantly. “And no one’s broken me yet.  _He_  hasn’t. I wouldn’t let him.”

Cain would have snorted then, told him to shut the fuck up and then rolled over to go to sleep, but Deimos just shrugged and said, “I never said it was a bad thing. You’ve always been nice to me. You didn’t even know me and you were still nice. If I was him, I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Hurt you.”

Abel’s breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to touch Deimos, too—was curious as to what Deimos would even let him get away with—but he was suddenly terrified of being rejected. Cain had done a lot of things to him, not many of them very nice, but he’d never rejected him. For all the macho bullshit he carried on with, Cain had always seemed too afraid of being rejected himself.  

Abel was afraid, too, of what would happen if this ever got back to Cain. Abel wasn’t sure what Cain would do if he ever found out Abel had tried to make a move on someone else, but whatever it was, Abel was fairly certain it wouldn’t be good. But Cain didn’t own him, and as much as Abel missed him, he was tired of playing along with Cain and pretending like Cain did.

“You and Cain,” Abel blurted then, hyper-aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “Are you two…?” He hadn’t realised until now that he’d always wanted to ask. Had always needed to know.

“No. He doesn’t want me,” Deimos softly replied.

There was a long pause. Abel pushed himself up on his elbow and, hand trembling, reached out to push Deimos’ hair out of his eyes. The fighter’s skin was cold and smooth, and he smelled clean and unfamiliar after Cain—like soap and toothpaste, and nothing like sweat and smoke and blood.

Abel wanted to kiss him.

“I do,” he said in a small voice, and in the moment following these words all he wanted was to take them back.

But it was too late. They were already kissing, Deimos’ fingers carding through Abel’s hair, and Abel had somehow managed to drag Deimos beneath him and settle between his legs. He was hard already, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted or even what he was asking for.

He was just starting to panic when Deimos hushed him and stroked his back, tugging at the hem of Abel's shirt and pulling it over his head before tossing it to the floor. The air was cold on Abel’s skin and he shivered.

Deimos wriggled out of his own clothes, too, quietly and methodically and without a hint of embarrassment, and lay there looking expectantly up at Abel, one hand on Abel's hip. Abel leaned over him and chewed on his lip. "Is this okay?”

Deimos didn’t say anything, just brought a hand to Abel’s cheek and caressed his face, thumb catching his lips again. Abel leaned into his touch. “I haven’t really done this before,” Abel whispered, and he hadn’t—not really. Cain had let him try it once, but had angrily shoved him off before Abel could finish, without really telling Abel what he’d done wrong. Abel had later surmised he must have hurt him, though Cain would never admit to that. They’d never tried it that way again, and Abel had never asked for it. Not if Cain didn’t want it. Not if he didn’t trust him. Not if Abel didn’t know what he was doing.

Deimos slipped a hand between them to stroke Abel’s cock, touch firm and sure, and Abel let out a hiss of breath, leaning forward to catch Deimos’ lips again. Dragging his face away after a few moments, he licked the palm of his hand and wrapped it around Deimos’ cock, stroking and swiping his thumb over the head, and Deimos let him for a few moments before he grabbed at Abel’s wrist and dragged it to his lips, sucking on Abel’s fingers to wet them before guiding Abel’s hand between his legs.

“Are you sure?”

All Deimos had to say was, “ _Abel_ ,” and that was enough to stifle Abel’s misgivings. Abel pressed a finger into Deimos’ body and slowly worked it in and out, opening him up, closely watching Deimos’ face for signs of discomfort, though there weren’t any. Deimos bit down on his bottom lip and breathed steadily through his nose, cheeks flushed and a light sheen of sweat on his brow.

It was uncomfortably tight when Abel finally hauled Deimos' knees up and pushed into him, and he was too close to coming already to go too fast. He knew that Cain would laugh at them if he saw them—if he wasn’t busy trying to murder them first—and would probably sneer at Abel to stop being a little bitch and fuck Deimos proper. But he wasn’t here, and Abel didn’t care what he’d think of them, because Deimos was trembling all over, his breath catching as Abel fucked him, and Abel knew Deimos was enjoying it; that Abel wasn’t blundering this time and hurting Deimos like he’d hurt Cain.

He pulled all the way back out before sliding back in, concentrating on working up a rhythm, and watched with his lip between his teeth as Deimos reached a hand between them to stroke himself. Abel leaned down to kiss Deimos’ shoulder, stroked his hip to reassure him, and Deimos twisted a hand in Abel’s hair and dragged his face up to kiss him, hard and rough and wet. He kissed differently to Cain—less tongue and more emotion—and his lips were just as soft as Abel had thought they’d be.

He wrapped his fingers around Deimos’ and stroked him off together as Deimos let out a little moan and lifted his hips, angling for Abel to fuck him deeper, so eager for it, just like Abel was when he was with Cain. Abel picked up the pace and fucked him harder now, too close to try and draw it out any longer.

He felt Deimos suddenly tense up and come between them, fingernails scraping along Abel’s spine. Abel held onto his hip, careful not to bruise him, and pushed into him faster, hand clutching Deimos’ hip as Deimos panted breathlessly beneath him. He shuddered as he came inside him, Deimos’ fingers pushing through his hair, and collapsed bonelessly on top of him, whole body shaking, his face buried  in Deimos' neck as he inhaled his clean scent.

 “I wish you didn’t have to go,” he said after a while, lips moving against Deimos’ skin.

“He’d kill me if I took you away from him. And you must miss him,” Deimos replied, stroking Abel’s back.

Abel frowned. He did miss Cain, though he didn’t miss the mood swings or the temper tantrums. “Do you?” he asked instead.

“Sometimes,” Deimos whispered.

Abel rolled off of him and pulled Deimos against his chest, lips on his shoulder. “I’ll never tell him,” he murmured.

“Good,” Deimos whispered back. “If he ever finds out he’ll kill us both. Me first.”

Abel frowned again, wondering what Cain had done to make Deimos so afraid of him, or whether Deimos just cared too much about what Cain thought to want to make him angry. Abel supposed they both cared too much about what Cain thought.

Abel held Deimos until Deimos drifted off, unable to sleep as he thought about Cain, and Deimos, and what was going to happen to them all once Cain got back.

 


	2. Deceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain is released from the brig and wants to pick up where he and Abel left off. But for Abel, everything has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did feel this was kind of asinine — think Days of Our Lives in space — but then I remember how young these three are, and… it doesn't seem quite so unrealistic because _I’m_ that melodramatic.

"You feel different," Cain remarked the night he got back, leaning over Abel in the dim light of their little room with a troubled look on his face, as if something was niggling at him, cock still hard inside Abel.

Abel put his hands on Cain's tense shoulders and rubbed at them, urging Cain back down over him and tilting his face up to kiss. "Nothing's different," he murmured against Cain's lips, and put a hand to Cain's warm cheek. He bit down on his lip and rolled his hips, gratified when Cain grunted and pushed up into him again. He was too easy to distract. 

"See?" Abel whispered. "Everything's the same."

"Did you fuck him?" Cain asked suddenly, and Abel stiffened, caught off-guard and frightened by the directness of Cain's question. He shook his head and stroked Cain's back, pulling Cain back against him and kissing his shoulder.

"Of course not," he lied. "I promised you I wouldn't, Cain; don't you trust me?" He tried to relax his expression—he hated lying, hated lying to Cain, but he'd promised Deimos first. Promised him he'd never tell Cain what had happened between them.

And Abel didn't even care what Cain would do to him if he knew, sure it would be nothing he hadn't had to contend with from Cain before. It was Deimos that Abel was worried about. Because if Cain ever found out about them then he'd hurt Deimos first, and Abel couldn't live with himself if that happened. It had all been Abel's idea. Deimos had only gone along with it.

Cain leaned back to study Abel's face for dishonesty, eyes narrowed and jaw tight as he looked down on him. "You're lucky I believe you," he said finally, and brought a hand to the side of Abel's face, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone, touch so gentle Abel wondered whether it was all a cruel trick; whether Cain really  _did_ know, and just hadn't said anything yet.

Cain smirked then and added, "He's fucking weird, though, isn't he?" and Abel exhaled in relief, nodding and pulling Cain back against him. "Yeah he's weird," he agreed, just to get Cain to drop it. But Deimos wasn't weird—was just quiet and shy, the way Abel had once been—and Abel wondered whether Cain even knew Deimos at all, just thought he did.

Cain buried his face in Abel's neck and kissed it, pinning one of Abel's wrists over his head, his breathing rough and uneven, warm and damp against Abel’s neck as he started moving his hips again. Abel stared at the door of their room while Cain finished with him, knowing it wouldn’t take long considering the month Cain had gone without sex, empty and hollow inside even with Cain back and fucking him again.

* * *

It was nearly a week before Abel saw Deimos again. On the sixth day he couldn’t take it anymore, nervous and sick to his stomach with the stress of keeping secrets, especially one of this magnitude, from Cain. Abel knew Cain was starting to get suspicious of him—Abel wasn’t eating, was struggling to make it through sex and struggling even harder to enjoy it—and Abel was sure if he didn’t do something soon then the cat would be out of the bag: Abel was a terrible liar, and Cain would find out without Abel needing to say anything at all.

But it wasn’t just the fear making Abel’s guts twist up inside him. He missed Deimos and hated that he resented Cain. It wasn’t Cain’s fault he’d been released. It wasn’t Cain’s fault Deimos was gone. It wasn’t Cain’s fault any of this had happened in the first place. Deimos had never been Abel’s, and Cain wasn’t responsible for taking Deimos away from him. But that didn’t stop Abel from being bitter about it or from blaming Cain for everything.

He asked Keeler for the afternoon off early, feigning a headache, and headed down to the fighters’ training level from the lab, so desperate to find Deimos and talk to him that he couldn’t even muster the energy to be afraid at the prospect of being alone amongst hundreds of fighters—didn’t care if Cain caught him down there either, because he was so sick and tired of Cain’s face he was ready to scream at him; to tell him never to put hands on him again, because he wasn’t even sure he wanted it anymore.

It was easier to find Deimos than Abel had anticipated, and even easier for Deimos to spot _him_ :the only pale blond in a sea full of dark heads. Deimos' eyes went wide when he saw Abel wandering around cluelessly, craning his head as he searched for Deimos and ignorant to the stares of everyone around him. He rushed for Abel the second he saw him, squeezing his way between a group of tall fighters twice the size of him just to get to Abel.

"Abel, what are you doing down here?” he asked once he reached him, voice low and eyes searching Abel’s face. He took Abel by the arms but stopped short of shaking him. “It isn't safe, and if Cain..." Deimos trailed off, as if uttering Cain's name might summon him.

He looked around them to ensure they weren't being watched and pulled Abel by the arm into a nearby storage unit, keying it closed and turning on the overhead lights, which flickered dimly and made Deimos’ eyes appear grey rather than blue; washed his skin out and made him paler than Abel had ever seen him.

As soon as they were alone Abel fell into him, arms tight around Deimos' neck. "I missed you," he said, cheek pressed to the side of Deimos’ face.

Deimos hesitated a moment before looping his arms around Abel’s waist and holding him tightly. Abel let out a deep breath; finally calm for the first time in days. “I would have come to see you,” he went on. “I would have said something sooner, I… I didn’t want things to end that way, it was just I couldn’t—”

“Abel,” Deimos interrupted him, voice soft and raspy.

Abel shut his mouth and breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling Deimos’ clean and familiar scent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, cringing now at his own stupidity and lack of tact. He took another deep breath. “I didn’t mean to ramble on, I only came here to promise you I hadn’t told him and to… to make sure that you were okay; it’s just seeing you again, I… I miss you so much,” he finished pathetically, feeling his face flush hot and bright red. “I want you back. Things aren’t the same without you.”

And they weren’t. Cain was the best fighter Abel had ever worked with, but he wasn’t interested in talking once they were done fucking. He didn’t like taking showers together in the morning, and he never kissed unless he thought it’d lead to sex—save of course for when they were already fucking or had just finished. But Deimos did all of those things—kissed just for the sake of it; touched Abel and didn't expect anything in return. He was everything Cain wasn’t.

Abel held tight to Deimos while he waited for a response, fingers twisted fitfully in the back of Deimos’ jacket.

“I miss you too,” Deimos said finally, and Abel relaxed against him, drawing his arms tighter around Deimos’ shoulders. “But what about Cain—”

“I don’t want to talk about Cain; I'm with him all the time. I want to be with  _you_  now,” Abel quietly confessed, bringing his hand up to Deimos’ head and gently twisting a hand in his hair, turning his face up to kiss him. Deimos' mouth was warm against his again, lips soft and gentle. He brought cool hands to Abel's face and held him there, touch so light it was barely there; always treating Abel as if he was made of glass.

Abel pushed his hands inside Deimos' shirt to feel his skin, smoothing his palms out over Deimos’ chest and bringing a hand to rest over his heart, feeling the skittery thud of Deimos’ heartbeat beneath his palm. Deimos was as nervous about this as he was, Abel thought, or at least wanted it as badly as Abel did. He was just better at hiding it on his face.

Deimos slid his hands up over Abel’s arms and pushed his jacket off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Abel fisted his hands in Deimos’ shirt and let himself be backed into the wall, head falling against it as Deimos’ lips moved to his neck and sucked lightly at his skin, avoiding the hickies Cain had given him to make fresh ones; delicate little bruises even Cain would struggle to see.

Abel let his fingers slip beneath the waistband of Deimos’ pants, tugging them down, and brought his face back up to kiss as he curled a hand around Deimos’ cock and slowly began to stroke him off. Deimos didn’t make a sound—he’d never made much noise during sex—but he was just as hard as Abel was, and Abel had never wanted him as much as he did right now. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted Cain this badly.

He pushed Deimos’ jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it aside, and helped him pull his shirt over his head, letting out a low hiss of breath when Deimos’ chest met his again. He curled against Abel so perfectly, small and easy to hold, the scent of his skin clean and familiar and nothing like Cain’s.

Abel pushed his tongue inside Deimos’ mouth, whimpering when Deimos nudged his legs apart with his knee and nipped gently at Abel’s lip, teeth tugging at it. Abel curled his hand around the back of Deimos’ neck to pull him as close as he could, lips parting as Deimos tongue slid hotly against his.

“Fuck me,” Abel breathed, desperate for anything; whatever Deimos would give to him.

Deimos didn't say a word but put his hands on Abel’s hips, urging him to turn over and face the wall. The lights flickered again, brighter this time, and Abel caught a flash of Deimos’ body in the dimness—the skin over his collarbone was pale and marked here and there with dark purple bruises, each one the same shape and evenly spaced.

Abel’s heart sank. He knew Cain’s handiwork. Would know it anywhere.

Deimos pressed against him, forehead leant against Abel’s shoulder, and he was so quiet—so tense—Abel was sure Deimos knew Abel had seen the bruises.

Abel wanted to back away from him now, but there wasn’t anywhere to back away _to_. He was trapped between Deimos and the wall, nowhere to run; nowhere to hide from this.

“You’ve…” Abel’s breath hitched in his throat and he was forced to clear it. “You’ve been with him.” He felt sick as he voiced the words, like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"Yes," Deimos admitted, voice so low Abel could barely make it out.

Reeling, Abel forced out, "When?"

Deimos didn't answer him, and Abel let out a low hiss of disgust and spat, "Only silent when it suits you, huh?" He shoved at Deimos' shoulder, shaking and disgusted with himself, with Deimos, with Cain.

He'd been betrayed by both of them, and couldn’t help but wonder now whether they laughed at him behind his back when they were alone together—the stupid sentimental little navigator who was desperate for them both; too green to understand how the real world worked.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” Abel said after a long silence, standing there stiff, arms folded close to his chest while Deimos avoided his eyes. Abel couldn't even muster the energy to fight or yell at him. And he wouldn't give Cain the satisfaction, because Abel had a feeling Cain would get off on this—the thought of the two of them fighting over him. He was egotistical and too vain for his own good. 

“After he got back, I didn’t know what you wanted from me," Deimos whispered, and this was worse, weaker, than any excuse Abel had expected to hear from him.

“And what, you thought it was this?” Abel snapped, and Deimos flinched away from him. Abel shook his head and muttered, "I only ever wanted you to be honest with me, Deimos, that's all. If you didn't want me—if all you were doing was filling in time until you could get to him—then why didn't you just _say_? Would have saved us both the trouble.”

“Abel…”

“And you know what?” Abel went on, ignoring him. “You can have him; he’s nothing to me." He bent to pick up his jacket and shoved past Deimos and out of the room, so angry all he could think about was finding Cain and making him pay for  _all_ of this. 

 


	3. Contentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abel confronts Cain about Deimos.

Abel sat on the edge of the bed while Cain was in the shower, mindlessly picking at his fingernails and silently fuming. His skin was still hot, pink and scrubbed raw from when he’d stood in the shower for too long under water that was almost scalding, washing Deimos’ scent from his body while he thought about what he was going to say when he finally confronted Cain.

He glared at Cain when Cain finally stepped out of the bathroom—dark hair dripping and a towel wrapped around his waist, blank-faced as he threw open the closet door and rifled through his belongings, probably looking for a clean shirt to wear.

“What’s your fucking problem, princess? Someone piss in your tea at lunch?” Cain asked as he shut the closet door and looked over his shoulder at Abel, who was still glaring up at him from the bed, hands trembling with subdued rage.

Abel ground his jaw and didn’t say anything, waited until Cain crossed the room and tried to touch him before he truly lost it, cracking his hand across Cain’s face and making sure his nails scratched Cain’s cheek.

Cain staggered away from him, a stunned look on his face as he brought a hand to his cheek. He took it away after a few moments and held it out in front of him, smirking when he saw the blood. “Tch. Took you long enough. I was wondering how long it was going to be before you went looking for him again.”

Abel felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, you think I didn’t know you’d see his bruises?” Cain asked, still smirking, and Abel got to his feet and made to strike Cain again, only this time Cain caught his wrist and held it in a crushing grip, bringing his face close to Abel’s. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he asked quietly, the smirk fading from his lips. “You didn’t think I’d know about you and that sneaky little bitch.”

Abel was so angry now he couldn’t see straight or think—didn’t care if Cain threw him down and beat the shit out of him. All he wanted was to get a few decent punches in first—one for every time Cain had made him feel like he was nothing.

He stomped on Cain’s foot and grunted as he struggled against him, pushing against Cain’s weight to try and free himself. It was useless—Cain was bigger, heavier, knew how to hold someone off. Abel had never hit anyone before save for Cain—all he knew how to do was bruise Cain’s ego with his words.

“I don’t care what you think you know,” he spat, still pushing at Cain, trying to force Cain to let him go. “You _are_ stupid; you don't know anything! Now get your hands off me and get the hell out of here; I never want to see you again!”

Cain yanked Abel towards him by the wrist, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket, and threw Abel down on the bed, climbing on top of him and pinning him to the mattress beneath his weight, grabbing at Abel's wrists and forcing them up over his head.

“You can make me out to be the cunt all you like, but who’s the lying whore, Abel?” Cain hissed into Abel’s ear, crushing Abel’s wrist with the force of his grip.

“You didn’t give me any choice but to lie about it, did you?” Abel replied scathingly, kicking his legs and trying to throw Cain off. “All you do is threaten me and try to scare me into doing what you want; what did you think was going to happen, that I was just going to wait around for you to grow a conscience? I can’t tell you anything because you’re completely fucking  _insane_. Now get _off_ me!”

“Not until you tell me  _why_ ,” Cain gritted, and Abel was having trouble breathing now with Cain lying across his chest; was starting to worry Cain was really going to hurt him this time.

“Because he’s not  _you_!” Abel managed, gasping for breath and struggling to free his wrists. If he could only pull one of his hands free he could punch Cain, scratch him, anything to get him off of him...

He was ready to shout out for help if Cain didn’t release him soon, could barely breathe with Cain’s weight pressing down on him. “Cain,” he wheezed, panicking as Cain stared down at him, red-faced with the exertion of trying to hold Abel still. “Please… I can’t  _breathe_.”

Cain growled and let go of Abel’s wrists, catching one of his hands instead and tightly twisting their fingers together. He shifted his weight from Abel’s chest so that he was no longer crushing him, and stared down at Abel, grinding his jaw, an unreadable look on his face.

“Why him?” Abel asked when he finally caught his breath. “ _Why_? You knew I—”

“Yeah I fucking knew,” Cain replied darkly, cutting Abel off. “I knew the second I got back and you couldn't look me in the fucking eye. So that’s why him. Wouldn’t have hurt as much if it wasn’t, would it?" He snorted then and added, "You know, he’s actually a pretty decent fuck once you get past the fact he never makes a noise, but I guess you’d know all about that—”

“You son of a bitch!” Abel yelled, so furious now he was seeing red. 

“Shut up, Abel, you’re nothing but a slut,” Cain growled through his teeth, and increased the pressure around Abel’s fingers, shaking him while Abel stared up at him defiantly. “Lying to my face. Fucking my  _friend_ s while I’m locked up, and over  _you_ —”

“He’s not your friend!” Abel shouted at him. “He doesn’t even like you, Cain—can’t you see that? No one does. He’s  _afraid_  of you. We both are.” Abel didn’t know whether or not this was true, but he wanted to hurt Cain like he was hurting, and he didn’t care how he went about it.

Cain let him go then, climbing off of Abel and shoving him away with such force Abel nearly fell off the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared down at his hands. "Is that how it was with you and him, then?" Cain asked tightly. There was a long silence. "Get together and screw each other, then talk about what a fucking asshole I am?"

"No. We never talked about you, Cain," Abel lied and sat up, rubbing at his sore wrists and turning his face away from Cain so he wouldn't have to look at him. He frowned, picking nervously at his fingernails while he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't expected to feel guilty for what he'd done with Deimos—had always believed Cain deserved everything he got. But it hadn't struck him until now that perhaps Cain felt as betrayed by this as Abel did. 

"I went to the brig for you," Cain said suddenly and made Abel feel even worse. "When some asshole started in on me about you I fucking lost it. Took a broken bottle in the gut and nearly lost my fucking fingers. And what do you do while I'm gone? You fuck my friend."

Abel flushed and hid his face behind his hands, rubbing at his temples. "I never meant for it to happen," he said finally, voice muffled against his hands. "I was lonely, Cain, and Deimos is... he's different with me. Gentle. I needed it after you—"

"Don't even fucking—"

"No, Cain,  _listen_ ," Abel said angrily, turning to face Cain now.  Cain wouldn’t look at him. “You can’t treat me the way you do and expect me to just shut up and take it,” Abel went on. “I won’t do it anymore, Cain, I  _can’t_.”

“Don’t act like you never got off on it, princess.”

Abel flushed pink, but said, “Not anymore. I don’t want to be just another one of your bitches, Cain.”

“Another one of my bitches, huh? Well where’s all the rest, Abel?”

“That’s not the point,” Abel argued with him. “I don’t care if I’m the only one you do this to; it’s going to stop. Everyone knows about us, Cain, and everyone’s laughing at me. I’m sick of being some sort of joke, to you and to everyone else.”

“Fine,” Cain snapped and got to his feet. He pulled on his pants and a shirt in silence, still not looking at Abel, and threw on his jacket. “Just shut up and go to bed, Abel," he muttered as he pulled on his boots. "We’ll head up to Central tomorrow morning and ask for transfers. You’ve got what you wanted, now fuck off. I’m going out.”

“Cain.” Abel got up and stood in front of Cain, blocking the door, his arms folded over his chest.

“What do you want?” Cain asked, still avoiding Abel’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. Don’t go,” Abel said softly.

“Abel—”

“I don’t want to fight with you. Can we please just forget about this and move on?”

“To what?”

“To something  _different_ ,” Abel wearily replied, pleading with Cain now. “Things don’t have to be like this, Cain; if we could just  _respect_  each other—”

“What, like you respect him?”

“I…” Abel started but couldn’t finish—didn’t know what to say.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t give a fuck about anyone, Abel. You pretend you do but you don’t. Because you weren’t thinking of him while you were getting off behind my back, were you?”

“What?”

“Tch.  _Deimos_. He’s in love with you or something, it’s fucking pathetic. Wasn’t easy to get him into bed, you know. He didn’t want to do it but he wouldn’t say why. Guess now we know.” Cain tutted and finally looked Abel in the eye, glaring at him up and down. “Stay the fuck away from him if you know what's good for you, Abel. You think I don’t know him but I do, and you’ve only made things worse for him. Just leave him alone. He’s not for you.”

Cain turned to leave and Abel caught him by the shoulder—he was panicking now, mouth dry as cotton-wool, sick to his stomach with guilt because he knew Cain was right. “I never meant to hurt him,” he said quickly, breath hitching in his throat. “I never meant to hurt  _you_. Please, Cain. Please don’t go.”

Cain said nothing but let Abel drag him back to the bed by both of his hands, quiet when Abel straddled his hips and kissed him, pulling Cain’s jacket off and pushing up his shirt. Cain was silent when Abel went down on him, fingers uncharacteristically gentle in Abel’s hair as Abel apologized to him in the only way he knew Cain understood. Abel tried not to think about Deimos at all, or anything Cain had said, because he knew Cain had been right about everything.

Abel hadn’t been thinking of Deimos at all.

 


	4. Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to missbraindead for reminding me to finish this up!

Abel waited until he knew Cain was wholly occupied for the afternoon before he went looking for Deimos again.

His heart hammered uncontrollably as he stood outside Deimos’ door, hands trembling and mouth dry as cotton wool. He didn’t know what he was going to say or do when he finally saw him again, but now that he was here it was too late to run away from it all. He had to face what he’d done and at least try to make things right between them. 

He lifted a hand and knocked twice on the door, biting his fingernails and nervously jittering while he waited for a response. When the door slid open Abel took a surprised step back, Deimos’ tall navigator and not Deimos staring down at him. 

“Can I help you?”

“Er…” Abel tried frantically to get a hold of himself, though his mind had drawn a sudden blank. “Is.. is Deimos in?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bathroom; looked a little worse for wear when he got in,” Deimos’ navigator replied with a jerk of his head. “You want to come in?”

“If that’s alright,” Abel said meekly, stepping past the taller navigator and into the tiny and unfamiliar room. It looked just like the room Abel shared with Cain and yet couldn't have been more different from theirs.

Abel sat down awkwardly on Deimos’ bed, hands folded in his lap as he waited for Deimos to come out. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say what he needed to say in front of another person, but mercifully the other navigator soon departed the room, perhaps sensing Abel's palpable anxiety, and left Abel alone in silence. The moment he was gone Abel got up and stood outside the bathroom, tapping gently on the door. “Deimos?” No one answered, but a few seconds later the door slid open and there Deimos was, looking back at Abel with a puzzled expression. 

“Abel?”

Abel flushed hotly and took a little step back. He’d forgotten what he was going to say the moment he saw Deimos’ face—cut and swollen lip, bruised cheek, and a bleeding gash over his eyebrow. 

“What happened to you?” Abel asked, horrified. On impulse he lifted a hand to touch Deimos’ face, but quickly realized Deimos probably didn’t want it. Abel let his hand fall back to his side and stood there stupidly instead, waiting for Deimos to say something to him. 

Deimos just blinked at him, though, clearly surprised to see Abel standing there, and finally replied, “Oh, I… it’s nothing, just a fight… I.. What are you doing here, Abel?”

Abel looked down at his feet, shaking hands folded behind his back. “I wanted to apologize about the other day,” he confessed. “I’ll leave if you want me to; I just wanted a chance to explain. Do you want me to go?”

Deimos lifted a damp cloth to his face, the front of his thin grey t-shirt spotted with blood, and shook his head. “Sit down,” he said to Abel, glancing behind Abel and at the bed.

“You don’t mind?”

“ _Abel_.”

Abel hurried over to the bed and sat down, waiting for Deimos to join him. When he didn’t, just stood there with the cloth pressed to his forehead, Abel took his hand and gently tugged at it. 

“Come sit next to me,” Abel softly urged, and Deimos sat down beside him then, a good few inches left between them. 

Abel sat there and watched Deimos for a long while—the fractured sound of his breathing, slightly shaky fingers clutching the damp and bloody cloth, the defeated slouch of his shoulders. Abel fidgeted with his hands, guilt heavy on his chest and everything he’d wanted to say for days threatening to burst out of him if he didn’t say _something_ soon. The wanting to touch Deimos was the worst part, though. It was what had got them all into this mess, and it was Abel’s stupid fault for not being able to keep his hands to himself while Cain was gone. 

When the silence became deafening, Abel blurted, “Was it Cain? Did he hurt you?” He almost didn’t want to know the answer. 

“No. He doesn’t do that," Deimos quietly replied. 

“Oh.” Abel bit his lip. “Can I?” he asked then, and gently reached for the cloth. “Do you mind?”

Deimos let Abel take the cloth from his hand, staring straight head, and Abel shifted closer to him and began to gently dab his wounds. 

“I’m sorry for what I did, Abel."

Abel stilled his hand and frowned at Deimos. Felt like the biggest jerk in the universe that Deimos had seen fit to apologize to  _him_  first. “No,” Abel said to him, and let his hand drop to his lap. He took a deep breath. Knew it was all going to come flooding out now whether he liked it or not.

“Please don’t say that, alright? I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you into sleeping with me, and I’m sorry Cain found out about it. I swear I didn’t tell him, but... it was my fault he knew. It must have been something I said, or… or something I  _did_. And I’m so sorry I yelled at you, Deimos. You didn’t do anything I hadn’t done as well. You and Cain were... It was none of my business. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did; you never promised me anything.”

Deimos turned to look at him then, and Abel felt the heat rise in his face. He couldn't stand it when Deimos looked at him so intensely. “You never pushed me into anything," Deimos said quietly. "I did it because I wanted to. I wanted _you_.”

"Why?" Abel asked him, because he couldn't make any sense out of anything on his own. 

"Probably the same reason you wanted me."

Abel didn't know what Deimos meant, but said, "I  _still_  want you."

"I still want you," Deimos replied, but looked away from Abel and down at his hands. There was a long pause before he added, "But it's not right."

"What do you mean?" Abel shuffled closer to him until their legs were pressed together and leaned into Deimos, chin on his shoulder and lips against his skin as he looked up at him. "Look, he doesn't even have to know—" he began before he realized how awful he sounded. Because he couldn’t do the same thing twice. Just couldn’t. Didn't think he could actually bear to see that look on Cain's face again. 

Deimos took a deep breath. Put his hand on Abel's leg, brushing his fingertips up over the inside of Abel's thigh. "I know you think he doesn't care," he began, a troubled look on his face. “But he was gutted. You should know that."

Abel swallowed guiltily and leaned away from Deimos. “What, he was so gutted he went off and slept with you?” he whispered. He didn’t want to sound harsh or accusatory, but it still stung him to think about what had happened between the three of them, not to mention the fact he’d been responsible for most of it.

“I never mattered, Abel. He just wanted to get back at you for hurting him; that’s what he does. He'll hurt you enough to make you forget you hurt him first.”

Abel didn’t know what to believe—that Cain actually had the capacity to feel something, or that Deimos had things all wrong.

“Why’d you let him do that?” Abel asked in a small voice.

Deimos shrugged and said nothing, but Abel thought he already knew the answer: Deimos had let Cain use him because, like Abel, he still had feelings for Cain, despite the cruel things Cain did to him. He still mattered too much to both of them, and neither one would turn their backs on him for each other—even if sometimes Abel wanted to do just that.

He brushed his lips over Deimos’ bruised cheek and leaned back, thinking hard as he chewed on his lip. “He hates me,” he said then, eyes glazed as he stared at the opposite wall. “He hates me so much he can’t even look at me. I’ve tried to make it up to him, but he doesn’t want anything to get better—he doesn’t even want them to go back to normal. All he wants to do is punish me…”

It was true. They'd fucked that morning, fast and hard without making eye contact. When Abel had tried to kiss Cain had refused, told him they weren't going to do that anymore if Abel had been kissing someone else—had said the thought made him feel sick. Abel had just shoved him away then, hadn’t waited for Cain to come, and Cain hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day.

Abel hadn’t minded the silence so much. Cain never kept his mouth shut for long, and the silent treatment would only last as long as Cain didn't want sex. But sex was all Cain thought Abel was good for, and that was never going to change.

“Are you still mad at me, Deimos?” Abel asked then, casting him an anxious sideward glance.  

“I was never mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Abel didn’t believe that for a second. He put his hand over Deimos’, the skin over his knuckles hot and grazed, and said, “Am I still allowed to see you?”

Deimos exhaled heavily and leaned into Abel, chest pressed to Abel's shoulder, and caressed the side of Abel’s face, smoothing down his hair. He kissed the side of Abel’s neck a few times and drew away, retreating back into silence until Abel left the room. He hadn't had to say anything else. Abel knew.

***

When Abel got back to the room Cain was sitting at the edge of the bed, Abel’s tablet in his hands, looking frustrated as he pressed at the screen and swore under his breath.

“Are you playing that stupid game again?” Abel asked from the door. “I told you you’ll never make it past level three. I haven’t.”

Cain ignored him. Obviously hadn’t forgotten he was supposed to be giving Abel the silent treatment.

Abel shrugged off his jacket and hung it up behind the door, peeling off his singlet and tossing it on the bed. He climbed up onto the mattress and knelt behind Cain, putting his hands on Cain’s shoulders and leaning over him to watch his progress on the game. “Kill that one first,” he murmured into Cain’s ear, giving Cain’s shoulders a gentle massage. “See? Now you’ve got to go back to the start—”

Cain growled and shrugged Abel’s arms off. “Tch. You’re always fucking horny… Thought you were still pissed about this morning.”

“Are you?”

“What the _fuck_ do you want from me, Abel?” Cain snapped without answering him.

Abel put his arms around Cain again, ignoring Cain’s little temper tantrum, and brushed his lips along Cain’s jaw. “I want you to kiss me...”

Cain twisted around to glare at him, eyes narrowed and grinding his jaw. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Abel replied in a whisper, thumb stroking Cain’s ear the way he knew Cain secretly liked. “I miss kissing you.”

He could tell he’d caught Cain off-guard now. Cain scowled at him and snarled, “I told you before, I'm not fucking touching you if you’ve been near him.”

Abel threw his leg around Cain’s waist and hooked an arm around his neck, straddling Cain's lap now, and said, “I haven’t,” against the side of Cain’s neck. He didn’t think a kiss on the cheek counted but was sure Cain would disagree. “And he won’t even see me anymore. You won’t have to worry about me kissing him again,” Abel added, trying to push this thought from his mind. He didn’t want to think about it. Not now or ever.  

Cain snorted at this. “Well don’t fucking look at me, Abel, I never told him he couldn’t see you. Maybe he’s just sick of fucking you—did you ever think of that?”

“Don’t be cruel, Cain." Abel refused to rise to Cain’s bait. If Deimos had been right about what he'd said then maybe half of this was because Cain was still hurt, and Abel didn't want to give Cain whatever reaction he was expecting.

Instead, he just said: “Are you going to punish me forever?”

"Are you going to keep fucking around behind my back?"

"You didn't answer my question."

Cain glared at him and Abel let out a breath, touching the side of Cain's face with the back of his hand. “Wearing someone down, treating them like dirt—that isn’t how you make them yours, Cain.”

Cain stared at him a long while, breathing heavily through his nose. “Then _how?_ ” he said through clenched teeth.  

Abel put his hands on either side of Cain’s head, gently stroking his ears, and pushed his fingers through Cain’s hair, urging him closer. He pressed his lips to Cain's and gave him a gentle kiss, light enough that Cain could turn his face away if he didn't want it. Cain shuddered beneath him and Abel could feel how hard he was; how much he still wanted Abel. Cain gripped Abel's hips and dragged him forward, kissing him again with a little growl; properly this time and like he used to, one hand on Abel's cheek and parting his lips, his tongue sliding against Abel's.

When Cain finally pulled away from him, lips wet and panting, Abel replied, "You be good to them and they'll... they'll be good to you, too. They'll want to be yours. You won't have to threaten them or wear them down; they'll just... they'll always want to be with you." 

Cain studied him for a moment, face flushed and breathing hard, a muscle working in his jaw. He didn't say anything to let Abel know he'd understood a single word, but he let his head fall against Abel's shoulder, wrapping his arms around Abel's waist and holding onto him tightly. Abel exhaled carefully and closed his eyes, one hand in Cain's hair as he rested his chin against Cain's head.

They'd never been normal, and Abel doubted they ever could be, but to Abel this felt as close to forgiveness as Cain was capable of showing him.


End file.
